


Trouble Comes Running

by dawnstonedagger



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Avvar Magic, Bad Puns, Bittersweet Ending, F/M, Gen, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Reunions, Reversing Possession, Rituals, The Fade, Trespasser Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-18 22:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8178433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstonedagger/pseuds/dawnstonedagger
Summary: After Hawke perished in the Fade, Anders wandered into the western desert, leaving the chaos of the world behind. The world was not done with him yet, however. Something which Warden-Commander Neria Surana was only too glad to inform him of.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Theneras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theneras/gifts).



> Thanks for being there for me, Theneras! <3 I hope you don't mind that I used my wacky canon Surana. XD
> 
> ~-*-~

“Get up, Warden!” said a woman’s voice—tearing Anders abruptly from the bleary paths of the Fade, and into waking. 

Someone with a lamp flooded his cave with light. Groaning, disoriented and weak, he lifted his head from the rat-chewed pile of old rags he called his bed. Justice had tried to lash out, but there was some sort of strange ward over them.

He could still feel his mana, so it wasn’t—

Wait. 

He knew that voice—and that terrible, terrible cackle which sometimes came with it, like a tree full of blackbirds. The feel of her magic. How stupidly powerful she was.

“Oh, Andraste’s sweet freckled ass,” he said, his voice croaking and rough from disuse as he cursed. 

Of all the people to have tracked him down…

“Sadly, Andraste seems to be focused elsewhere. Definitely not here in your smelly cave. You’ve let yourself go, love,” she said, and then started laughing.

Ugh, that certainly hadn't changed. 

Neria. Bleeding. Surana.

“Warden Commander? Neria? I- How did you find me?” Trying to ease up on one arm, he made no effort to defend himself. Of late, he subsisted on very little; just whatever he could scrounge or catch or trade for, but the past few months had been... difficult. His strength was not what it had been.

Neria carried a lantern in front of her and leaned over him with it, grinning her wide, white smile. It was like looking a beautiful, gray-haired, violet-eyed wyvern in the teeth—only more terrifying. 

Everything about her reeked of magic, her clothes, her jewelry, her boots. She was always one step from slipping into the Fade when he knew her before. Maybe that’s what this was—a dream, a terrible, awful dream.

“Doesn’t matter. Wake yourself. I’m going to need your help,” she said.

Anders thought it mattered quite a bit. He’d gone to great lengths to disappear.

“I-I can’t. I can’t it’s too dangerous. You know I can’t be around people. And I’m not a Warden anymore!” he said, on the edge of panic. She had to know, know about everything he’d done; now she was seeing him like this—twisted and broken and foul.

“And, technically, I’m not supposed to be in Orlais at all; neither of us has ever been good about following the rules. Maker, you look like shit. Anyway, that can be fixed. Up, up! I got a letter!” she said, sunnily, as if that explained everything.

“I don’t understand.” He pushed the tangled hair out of his tired eyes, sitting up. Clearly, this mad elf wasn’t taking no for an answer; Anders, too starved and fatigued, could not argue. 

“Clean up. I’ll make us some breakfast and tell you all about it.” Her smile seemed like it had gotten wider, if that was possible.

“I don’t suppose there’s any hope that you’re not going to try to make me wear pants?” He scratched his beard sullenly, realizing the direction this was going.

“Wardening is pants optional, but recommended for survival purposes. Yes, I brought you a new uniform.”

“Drat.”

***

Once he found his feet and had his tattered robe arranged so that the remaining fabric mostly covered his nethers, Anders ventured outside the red sandstone hidey-hole he’d been living in. The pinkish half-light of early morning made him squint.

Nearby, in the desert scrub, were two strange, horse-sized, green-and-brown lizard beasts, both tied to a peg. He suspected they were dracolisks, though he’d only ever seen pictures; one of them was laden with what looked like several weeks of supplies. 

Neria had an unnatural-looking cookfire burning, and a small, blackened metal pot hanging over it. Her skill at cooking was always inoffensive at best, but whatever fare she provided would be better than what he had available to him. 

He shambled towards the apparent warmth of the fire, and folded himself back down into a heap to soak it in. 

“Nothing fancy, but there’s root vegetables and a bit of mutton in there, and I’ve got bread and a bit of fruit,” she said. Now that she wasn’t holding a lantern in his face, he could see she wore the blue and silver of her order, and a faintly glowing staff on her back; she also had a thick sheaf of parchment in one hand.

“Anyway, I got this from Divine Victoria a few weeks ago.” She held up a parchment, letting gold-embossed ribbons dangle off of it. He recognized both the Chantry and Inquisition seals upon them.

“When did they appoint a new Divine?” he asked. And why would she have contacted Neria of all people?

“It’s been about two years. How long have you been a hermit out here?” she asked, her eyebrow arching at him. 

“I couldn’t tell you.” News was available only when he chose to seek it, or some trapper came within shouting distance. Which had been some months; it was better this way.

“Too long, apparently. You might recall I was good friends with a Chantry sister who was also a bard?”

“Vaguely. Didn’t she go by ‘Nightingale’? I met her with Hawke once.”

“Now she goes by Divine Victoria.”

“Wait. What?”

“Pretty unbelievable, right? And she knows I’ve been looking for a cure for the taint. She’s been sending me the most fascinating tidbits—we’ve been working more closely since the Inquisition was disbanded.”

“The Inquisition disbanded? Already?” The world moved too fast for him to keep up with it anymore.

“You really are out of the loop.”

“Everything after the Conclave, it’s kind of a blur. Lots of running and sleeping in haystacks in the opposite direction from certain doom. You know, typical stuff.” 

He’d heard about Hawke’s death, in a tavern outside of Val Firmin; right after the Calling he'd been too drunk to acknowledge, seemed like it had ceased. He started wandering towards the desert a few days later, knowing innately that these two facts were intertwined.

More or less, he drifted in the direction of the Old God, out of sheer lack of any other thing drawing him in; after a few days of what seemed like silence, the dreams came back. The song hadn’t stopped entirely, but whatever was amplifying it, had.

“It’s a long, long, long story. Which I will not bore you with now, since you’re going on a little trip with me,” she said, stirring the pot. 

“And you’re going to compel me to leave my sole bastion of safety and peace, how?” 

“I know of someone who might be able to help you with your little problem,” she said, flatly.

Anders tried to keep his expression neutral, but couldn’t keep his eyes from widening slightly at that. “Which one? My problems seem to be multiplying by the minute.” 

She couldn’t possibly mean to help him with Justice or Vengeance, or whatever they were, right now. There was nothing to be done for it.

“The abomination one. I’m still working on the taint.”

“From where I am sitting, it is not a problem, whatsoever,” he grumbled. 

“Is this where you start telling me you’d both rather rot in a cave alone and die, than ever step foot in civilization again? Bonds of friendship aside, I need you, because you and I are the only Wardens in Orlais right now. I need another pair of hands and whatever is left of Justice, until further notice. I conscripted you, I get dibs,” Neria said.

“And people call me crazy,” Anders said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Neria cackled. “We’re both mad, love, and in the world we’re in right now, who wouldn’t be? If the Divine is right, all of this may be rendered moot. The world didn’t end, but it is ending. How that shakes out, might have everything to do with you, and me, and the twenty other people who even know it’s happening.”

She was insane, completely cuckoo. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Why did I save your ass at Vigil’s Keep? Why didn’t Hawke shank you after what you did in Kirkwall? I dunno, but Maker knows you’re here for a reason, and that’s good enough for me, my cat-loving friend. Read what our Divine has to say, and tell me you don’t want to be a part of it.” 

Neria tossed the parchments down onto the rocky ground next to him. 

Anders leaned away and stared at it for a long moment, like she’d thrown a venomous snake at him—and really the weird nug-embossed and gilded header was rather ugly—but...

He looked at it, and then slowly lifted it up.

_Dearest Neria, I hope this letter finds you well..._

***

He’d gone with her, of course. 

But there were no two ways about it, he’d made another awful mistake. Or, perhaps, Neria had. 

They were both so good at getting into trouble, he was surprised Varric hadn’t had the Carta hunt them down for inspiration. Then again, the dwarf had somehow managed to become Viscount of Kirkwall. He might be a tiny bit busy at the moment. 

Varric certainly wouldn’t enjoy being in the Middle-of-Nowhere south Ferelden—or was it Orlais? no one came here—riding through the mountain wilderness, killing territorial gurguts, and searching for an obscure Avvar village. 

Not that Anders particularly enjoyed it, either. Their journey did jog some memories from the time before, though, back when things were just as horrible, but simpler.

“This reminds me of when we went into the Blackmarsh and you collected all of those dragonbones,” he said, as they rode through yet another overgrown, mosquito-filled ravine.

“It died, just like all the other monsters,” Neria said, with a slight roll of her eyes. 

“Ah, I remember it like it was yesterday. ‘Anders, pick up that icky glowing bone in the mud. We might need it later'.” He mocked her in a high-pitched sing-song voice. “‘Let’s put them together, and see if anything happens! Oh no!'”

She snorted. “That’s not at all what I intended. I just wanted to see how much we had.”

“Right next to a tear in the Veil? Really, Neria.”

“Dragonbone is a valuable magical resource, regardless of where it’s sitting. Anyway, aren’t you going to make the joke?”

“Your turn, I think.” The lightness she’d brought with her faded in and out, to his mind, but he mostly appreciated it.

“At least you can tell your friends you boned me, right? Eh, eh?”

Mostly.

He shook his head, while she laughed at her lame, and sadly untrue pun. Despite his companion’s inability to be anything other than cheerfully sadistic, a long dormant feeling had bloomed within him over the past few days. He’d started to recognize it as fondness.

“Maker’s Breath, I missed you,” he said, surprised to hear himself say it. He couldn't help but be slightly nostalgic about their small band of Wardens. All of the others were stationed in Weisshaupt, now, she claimed. Well, except for Oghren, who’d disappeared, likely stumbling drunkenly into a darkspawn nest.

Neria gave him a wry grin, as she tugged his sleeve, leaning over from her mount. 

“Yeah, well, you can’t miss that!” She pointed towards a hunched figure in the distance, which seemed to be flinging boulders at a terrified bogfisher.

The monster completely blocked the end of valley they were trekking across, naked, with huge tusks, and a large—

“A giant. Lovely. Or not lovely. Hideous as an elf’s foot, really,” Anders said.

“Hey! I resemble that remark.” Neria glared back at him, and he smiled.

“It’s coming towards us. You’re going to attack it, aren’t you. I know that face.” 

She grinned wider. “It’s picking on something smaller than it. Shall we?” Neria was already dismounting, staff in hand.

“I hate to think what the other side of it looks like. I suppose I’m going to find out.” Sighing, he followed close behind, readying a fireball.

***

A day after they added "Giant-killer" to Neria's long list of epithets, they reached the sleepy barbarian village without fanfare.

The Avvar of Stone Bear Hold were most welcoming, considering that they as ‘lowlanders’ had little to recommend them. Nothing, really, but for what thin connections Neria had through the Divine. Namely the famed Herald of Andraste, the former Inquisitor, known as ‘First-Thaw’ in these parts, whom, like Neria, had also killed a god or two. It was enough though.

After a short meeting with the Thane—a woman who appeared to be very annoyed that they’d interrupted her in writing a letter—they were permitted to walk freely through the hold.

Neria seemed to know where she was going. Or, at least, she followed the path that led most directly to a particular hut, which felt from outside like it was half in the Fade. The Veil felt so thin here, it surprised him that wisps were all that hovered near. There ought to have been a few shades, or maybe an animated tree or two. If what the Divine had written was true, the unique way the Avvar dealt with spirits might be helpful in his case. 

Anders honestly didn’t hold out much hope. Justice, however, seemed to find this place peaceful. From what he could see, there was much that was just and fair about the Avvar, if rough and a bit smelly. They didn’t just live peacefully with their mages, according to what he’d read, they used spirits to train them. Deliberate possession and separation. His Chantry-trained mind wanted to reject every word, but Neria was from the Tower, too. If she thought it could work...

“Let me do the talking with the Augur, to start. I’m the one who set this all up,” Neria said; she knocked on the thick, uneven planks of the door to the hut. 

“I still don’t entirely understand why you're helping me.”

“Think about it, love. I made Loghain Mac Tir join our order, even after what he did to his own people. Like him, you’re more useful to me alive, fighting the things in the dark no one else wants to think about. Also, if I’ve got to die to the Darkspawn, I’m bringing you bastards with me.”

“Practical woman you are. And here I thought you were tending some feelings for me.” His heart twinged, as the door opened in front of them of its own accord. Anders could sense the spirit hovering by it, though it was invisible.

“Be welcome, Grey Wardens,” said the sole occupant. Well, if you didn't count the spirits, for there were several of those. 

The Augur, a bear of a man wearing a leather helm and a thick fur-lined coat, sat calmly by an ominous pit of veilfire and skulls. “I have heard much of your journeys. And you will be Neria Surana, called Hero, by the Fereldan people—if not by their King,” he said, his voice deep and resonant.

“I am. Pleased to meet you, finally, Augur Gulbrand,” she said, and inclined her head to the Augur.

“And you are Anders. I see,” said the Augur.

The man’s voice sounded more sad than derisive, but it certainly wasn’t complimentary. Not that he expected him to be, but he didn’t have to be so overt about it.

“What?” Anders asked. “I’ve only just got here.”

“The other mages of the hold have been called to assist. We will do what we can. The gods will guide us.”

At that, Neria held out a small chest she’d been carrying under her arm, to the Augur. “Here are the things you requested—the Rivaini marmalade was a bit difficult, though. I think lyrium is cheaper by the ounce.”

“My thanks. I will make an offering in your name,” he said, accepting it, and setting the chest at his side. 

“An offering? Do your gods like jam sandwiches?” Anders said, with a bark of laughter.

“You know the answer to that as well as I,” said the Augur.

“I suppose I do. It’s the thought that counts. Right?”

“Indeed.” 

Neria tapped her foot impatiently. “Can we get this started? I need to stop some people from burning down the world,” she said, referring to some of the more absurd parts of the Divine’s letter. Justice had been oddly silent on the topic.

“Patience, Hero. I know of whom you speak; there is still time. Come, sit. Tell me what news you have of the north, as we prepare.”

Neria looked at Anders, shrugged and took a seat on one of the leather cushions scattered around the fire pit. He sat next to her, and listened to her as much as the Augur did, for much of it was new to him, as well.

The other Stone Bear mages filed in at uneven intervals within the hour, until there were four others in the small hut, dressed similarly to the Augur, though the last smelled badly of fish. They made their greetings, and sat listening while Neria talked, one of them knitting all the while.

Yarn made Anders think of how long it had been since he’d scratched a cat between the ears. Neria had given him Ser Pounce-A-Lot. Maybe once they were on the road again, she wouldn’t mind if he-

“May the Lady of the Skies have her due!” said the Augur, loudly, tossing something fragrant into the fire. Anders nearly jumped out of his skin at it, not realizing Neria had finished telling them what she knew of the Exalted Council. The flames burned green, and wisps fluttered in the shadows.

“With the favor of the gods who watch over us, we begin.”

***

The ceremony was not elaborate, but very potent. Whatever the Augur had done, it threw Anders' consciousness past the Veil, and held him there firmly. Unlike when he'd had his Harrowing, the spirits around him seemed to be guarding him from outside influence, not trying to tempt him.

Time passed strangely, for he did not feel as if he had been there long, when Neria found him.

Facing him, she looked exhausted, like she’d been fighting. She also looked extremely angry. They stood in silence for a moment, staring at each other at the center of the library of frustration Anders’ mind had made of his little corner of the Fade.

“Anders, call out Justice." Neria's usual grin was long faded.

“I can’t. We are one,” he said, as she closed in on him. She didn’t look like she was listening.

“That’s not true and you know it. If it were, you’d never have control, Vengeance would have burned you out in a rampage years ago. Either let him out, or I’ll drag him out, and I promise you’re both going to feel it later.” Neria started in on a massive glyph, and he felt his entire body seize in terror. How had she gotten so strong? She couldn't possibly mean to—

“No! Stop! I am here,” Justice said, striding forward from within Anders, his once white armor tinged gray. “Why do you continue pressing forward with this?”

“Because I wish to help you both. You are at cross-purposes, and it is unfair to you and to him. Anders work with you is done, you both must move on. That is where I come in.

"I have a copy of an edict from the Divine, demanding justice served to those who were made Tranquil unnecessarily. They can be healed. And to be healed, they must be touched by a spirit strong enough to permanently reconnect them with the Fade. I believe you could fulfill this role,” she said, with care, as if she were giving a speech. Almost like she'd been practicing this conversation to herself for a long time.

The heart of what she was saying to them, though, was a complete shock. Anders’ jaw dropped, half in horror, half in amazement. 

How long had she known? Why hadn't she told him?

“It sounds a worthy duty. Can I not go there with Anders?” Justice asked.

Yes, why couldn’t he?

Neria shook her head. “No. To my knowledge you cannot take on this task and be in a body. Much less, the body of a wanted criminal. Grey Warden, or not, he is not welcome in any chantry. You have been in the world, you must know he would only create distractions. Touched by your spirit, I believe you can help give these people back their lives and their selves—something unjustly stripped from them along with their magic.”

“Do not belabor the point. I understand. What you say rings true,” said Justice. 

“What do you mean ‘rings true’? You can see inside my mind! Of course it’s true!” Neria scowled at the spirit.

“Mortals do not always comprehend their ability to deceive themselves,” he replied.

“What a load of... Ugh! Justice, love, do you want the job or not? If you do, return to the Fade. There is a somniari in Val Royeaux, named Morhythian, who would be delighted to talk to you there about all the law and order sorts of things you both stand for. Look for him, you can help each other.”

“Very well. You have never before led me astray. I will move to enforce this edict.”

“Excellent,” she said, striking the ground with the butt of her staff for emphasis. “I will seek you out again, soon, to ensure that you are not ill-used by the Chantry, my friend.” 

“That is… reassuring. I will look forward to our next encounter,” said Justice.

Then Anders felt something rather like a heavy woolen blanket lifting from his shoulders, crackling with static and familiar warmth and certainty. 

Justice was there, and then he was not.

A moment later, Anders slumped down onto his knees like a rag doll, a yawning chasm of emptiness rushing to swallow him. He felt Neria’s shadow cross over him, and her hand come to rest on his head.

She sighed softly, and he could feel something of her magic sink into him, dark, but soothing. 

If he could just get her to stay this close… maybe—maybe then it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Justice didn’t belong to you, love. He belongs to the Fade, and we have our own world,” she said.

“I- Stay with me. Please,” he said, weak and desperate, flooded with the loneliness left in the wake of Justice’s absence. She had to, he needed her to. He had nothing, nothing at all to hold onto.

“I think you have that the wrong way round. I told you, Anders, we have work to do. You’re coming with _me_.” Neria smiled at him wide as ever, and pulled them back into waking.


End file.
